Who is he?
by Zora Arian
Summary: Someone has gotten hold of Molly's attentions in the most unconventional of ways, and Sherlock's not liking it. One. Single. Bit.
1. Chapter 1

"He's just so awesome-"

"Have you seen his movie-"

"Hey, he does theatre, if I'm not wrong?"

"It's- it's Frankenstein, right?"

Molly and Mary giggled like two teenage girls, pointing at various pictures of their male obsession. After a particularly drool-worthy picture consisting of said male in nothing but a newspaper covering his whole body, Mary leaned back and gave her friend a lopsided smile. "He certainly reminds me of someone I know."

Molly froze in between her gushing and, trying to sound indifferent, replied, "Oh, he does…?"

"Yeah," her companion answered, then gave a disarming grin, "he looks a little like my distant cousin! Only, he's not ginger, and his hair's straight."

Molly internally sighed in relief and resumed making remarks on other photos in the magazine with her friend, occasionally pointing out which were her favourites.

"Ugh…" Mary groaned when a loud bang resounded in the laboratory both women were in. Then it was followed by two male voices, one complaining about something to do with the state of his jumpers while the other suavely deflected blame by giving cool responses.

"The destructive duo's here," the nurse whispered into the petite pathologist's ear, who rolled her eyes.

"I'm sure you don't mean John as well," she whispered back as Sherlock grabbed a few items in the lab that he needed while John continued to try to make his flatmate feel guilty, only to have his words certainly falling on deaf's ears.

"John? No, never him," Mary gave her a huge grin and left the room, stopping to cheerfully greet both men and only receiving a reply from the blond.

"Molly, where's all the slides?" Sherlock demanded, bending over a table and sweeping his hand around to look for a microscope slide.

"Extras' in the supplies room; I think there's no more down here. I'll go and get some for you?" Molly offered hesitantly, to which she received a nod from him in agreement.

"Also - coffee, bl-"

"Black, two sugars; yes," she finished for him, pushing the lab door open to exit the room.

Sherlock slightly narrowed his eyes in irritation at being cut off, but shrugged it off and reached out his hand to get a hold of one of the chemicals he required, when at the corner of his right eye he noticed an opened magazine. Out of curiosity, he grabbed that instead, still pointedly ignoring John, who had started dictating rules for their flat.

"John, who is he?" Sherlock slapped the now rolled-up magazine on the shorter man's chest after a quick glance at the exposed page, making the blond start in complete surprise.

"What 'who is he'?" John rubbed his chest (it hurt), scowling at the curly head man.

Sherlock exaggerated his eye roll, silently informing the doctor he was being more of an idiot than usual, and smacked the tube of a magazine against his chest again. "This 'he'!"

After another scowl, John snatched the magazine from his hand and unrolled it, glaring at the various pictures of a man Sherlock had been referring to. His expression then relaxed and he resisted the urge to laugh.

"I know you're internally laughing at me, John, but I don't care. Who in the world is he?!" Sherlock hissed, eyes raking over the pictures, a look of disdain framing his face.

"This," John pointed at one of the pictures, the one where the ginger man had his hair blond straight and was wearing a pair of thick black rimmed glasses, "is…a look-alike of you."

Sherlock glared daggers at him. Was it possible to suffocate someone with a test tube? "I. Have. Eyes! Of course I can see the resemblence of him to me! What I'm asking for is a name! Has your IQ dropped considerably due to the lack of socks?!"

"Those are **my** socks, Sherlock! Didn't I tell you hands off my socks drawer?!"

"You've never mentioned 'feet off', though."

"WHAT THE-?!" Was it a crime to stuff someone's mouth with cotton balls from the first aid kit?

"John - NAME!"

"You damn- fine!" John slapped the magazine on the table to his left, turning to a page and jabbing a finger at the man who now wore a suit. "'He' is Benedict Cumberbatch, an actor."

Sherlock snorted loudly. "What kind of a name is 'Benedict Cumberbatch'?"

His friend snorted just as loudly in retaliation. "What kind of a name is 'Sherlock Holmes'?"

The older man resisted looking at the seriously offended and now furious man in front of him; he knew he would not help but howl in laughter if he did. Instead, John stared at the magazine and went on to provide information on him. "He's really one exceptional actor, having done theatre performances and movies over the years. He's rising up the ranks as an actor, and is now very recognisable (though it did not surprise me one bit that you've never heard of him before). If I'm not wrong, he was crowned The Sun's Sexiest Man once as well."

"Is that why Molly was looking at pictures of him?!"

John whipped his head to his right so fast he thought he might have torn a muscle in his neck. In that low growl, it was the tone in which the detective had used that had caught his attention; it sounded almost akin to…jealousy.

He decided to ruffle his metaphorical feathers a little. This could be fun. "Yeah, maybe? I mean, this guy's rather popular among the masses. He has a following as well; I think his supporters call themselves 'Benaddicts'. Oh!" He snapped his fingers dramatically as if he had remembered something of utter importance. "His female fans are known as 'Cumberbabes'. Quite a cool name, in my opinion."

Sherlock grimaced. He, obviously, did not find the name 'cool' at all. "So Molly's a Cumber…babe?" he asked, face physically cringing at the word 'babe'.

John gave a smirk and shrugged. "Judging by the number of Mr Cumberbatch's pictures in this magazine alone, which is also coincidentally an exclusive report on him, I'm going to hazard a guess and say 'yes'?"

It did not go unnoticed by him that Sherlock had his right hand clenched tightly into a fist for the duration of their conversation.

* * *

"Molly, yes - slides," Sherlock mumbled from his spot in front of the microscope.

She approached him and set down his mug of coffee next to him on the table, all the while looking around the lab, not spotting a certain blond. "Where's John?"

"Back in Baker St. I neglected to mention that my current experiment involved coloured dyes, and that the use of his white socks was much a necessity," he explained and turned around in his chair to face the woman.

After another round around the familiar confines of the room, she let her eyes rest on the man's face and she let out an involuntary squeak of surprise at what she saw. There, sitting comfortably on the bridge of his nose and intensely framing his cool grey eyes, was a pair of thick black rimmed glasses.

"Wha- what's that, Sherlock…?" Molly trailed off, a hand to her mouth in an otherwise failed attempt at covering her earlier gasp, as she watched him remove the glasses.

"A pair of spectacles, obviously," he informed her, wiping the lenses with the hem of his white button-down shirt.

"But- but why're you…wearing it…?" she gazed at him slightly dreamily, face slowly turning a wonderful shade of pinkish-red.

Sherlock put on the glasses and looked over to her, thoroughly satisfied with the response he had garnered from her. "Just felt like it," he childishly shrugged, smirking cheekily at her.

Molly felt as if her legs were threatening to give way underneath her and she immediately grabbed for the edge of the table, setting down the slides in her left hand with a loud 'clunk' in the process.

"Ah, the, uh, slides that you…needed…" she muttered, embarrassed. She was forcing herself not to look at him by ducking her head down. He looks so much like my favourite actor, she thought, simultaneously freaking out and flailing in excitement inside.

"Molly?" Sherlock leaned forward on the table to get a better look at her. He was assuming an innocent expression as he looked questioningly at her.

She jerked backwards, stumbling on her feet and rushing to get out of the space. "No, no, nothing!" she spluttered out, looking down to her feet and blushing furiously.

"I think I'll- I'll go to the loo!" she declared a little too loudly a second later and more or less ran out of the room.

Sherlock chuckled, amused by her reaction. He turned to the magazine spread out on the table to his left, the page showing the picture of the Benedict Cumberbatch guy wearing glasses. He was glad he had stumbled upon Molly's fetish for glasses, shown by the slightly worn out look of that particular page compared to the others.

* * *

Molly smacked her forehead on her working desk after Sherlock left. Dang it; for the entire time, he had that damn pair of glasses on, and she had a terrible time trying to compose herself and not do something ridiculous - like, say, jump on him and snog the daylights out of him? She gave herself a pat on the back for resisting the urge; God knows she had enough on her plate now. A Sherlock-induced awkwardness would just make her go insane. She wondered why he had even worn glasses. Just to spite her? But they were not that close to the point that he would know of her, uh, tastes…

She sighed and shook her head, attempting to forget it. As she cleaned the lab, she instead thought on what she wanted to do when she got home. A bubble bath was certainly in order; feed Toby with that new brand of cat food recommended by some salesgirl; watch a couple of DVDs.

She bit back a grin - Atonement, Hawking (she briefly flushed red at remembering Benedict with glasses), or War Horse? How about watching Third Star on the internet? Oh, or maybe Fortysomething - he was absolutely cute and adorable in that one.

"Oh wait! There's a re-run of Parade's End tonight on the telly!" she reminded herself, and squealed (fan)girlishly.

Molly hummed as she continued putting things back to where they belonged. Benedict certainly is a great actor, she mused, though it had slightly unnerved her that he looked so much like Sherlock the first time she was introduced to him by Mary. But from what she had heard, he seems a nice guy. She, like any other self-proclaimed Cumberbabe, hoped to get to meet him one day.

Once she was finally done, exhausted and tired out of her wits from a long day (and even longer time on forcing herself not to do a certain something…), she grabbed her large bag and proceeded to look for the magazine she had been reading with Mary earlier on. After 15 minutes of fruitless searching, she was at the verge of pulling her hair off their roots in aggravation.

Where was it?!

Unbeknownst to her, it was serving its purpose as burning fuel for a fire in a fireplace at 221B Baker Street.

* * *

I really am not sure if it is considered acceptable to bring real life people into fanfiction, even if it's a mention of it, so if it's wrong, please please **PLEASE** tell me; I'll take this down with immediate effect.

Anyway; Cumberbabes come in all ages after all ;) This is my 20th fanfic, so I thought of doing something slightly over-the-top. Yes: this is another jealous!Sherlock fic, but 'possessive'? I dunno; he did dislike (with a vengence on) the hold Mr Cumberbatch had on his pathologist. Though, it's safe to say she ain't the only one who's fallen for his charms ;) I hope you like this, and penny for your thoughts? :DDD

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	2. Chapter 2

...well. I can safely admit that I've gone a little overboard with this chapter; I've raised the rating to T just in case, because my imagination went, uh, wild for a while down here ;) Thank you once again to **thestarlitrose**, **Katherine**, **musicchia10**, **Rocking** **the** **Redhead**, **Orchfan**, **hipkarma**, **Raxacoricofallapatorian17**, **Kataraang0**, **Empress** **of** **Verace**, **CompanionToMisterHolmes**, **lostmypen120**, **louisethelibrarian**, **susieqsis**, **Laura**, **animefan0000012345**, **The** **Mad** **Squirrel**, **MissMoustachio** and **Benedict-Addict Holmes** for the reviews, and hugs for the **favourites** :) Oh man, I'm worried for this chapter, but I liked it, and I hope you do too...?

* * *

Molly jumped in her seat when there was a loud slam from the lab door in which room she was in. She sighed tiredly; did he have to do that everyti-

"Molly! You need to watch this! I- I-"

"Mary?!" Molly exclaimed at her sudden appearance in the laboratory as she turned in her chair, surprise and puzzlement etched in her facial features.

"-I can't believe we missed this!" she squealed as she rushed forward to where the pathologist was sat. Once arriving at said pathologist's work desk, she dropped her pink laptop on it, frantically and messily pushing papers to the left side in order to accommodate it.

"Mary! My papers! I need to-"

"Shh! Look!"

Molly grimaced at her eccentric friend and her over-eagerness, but reluctantly obeyed and turned her gaze to the screen. The grim line on her lips would soon make way to an excited grin later on when she would see who she enjoyed seeing.

"What's this, Mary? I thought we watched every video of him on Youtube," she asked her friend uncertainly.

"This-" Mary tapped a lean finger at the buffering video, "-we have never seen. And I don't know how we could have missed that! I mean- oh God," she stopped briefly and pressed 'play', "quiet and watch. You won't regret this!"

"I've never regretted watching any of Benedict's videos, you know," she replied, still baffled by the brunette's antics.

"No, no; what I meant was that you'll like this as much as the rest!"

Molly stared at her friend once more before shifting her gaze to the screen. She certainly loved watching Benedict's videos (who wouldn't, she mentally added), but sometimes Mary would make her watch a video over and over again, and at times that particular video would lose its appeal after given that treatment; Molly really did want to appreciate every single one of his works.

But this video…oh God. How could they have overlooked it?

It started off with the view of a ship, and then soon the scene changed to one in a small room of sorts, where- oh, that's Benedict Cumberbatch all right-

…he seems to be…half-exposed. The bottom half of him was under a sheet-

He gestured to another man in a manner that said 'go ahead', and said man…lifted the sheet…to…inspect the bottom half…?

Looks like Benedict's character had no interest in wearing dirty clothes any longer  
(never really stopped to think that originally, bars of soap did, in fact, not have any scent on them, Molly mused for a while), so the other man brought him out of the room and onto the ship's deck, telling him to bring as many of his clothes as he can carry.

…on the ship's deck, Benedict had already shed his sheet…

"Oh my. Look at **that**…" Mary purred to Molly, eyes not leaving the screen. Molly's eyes was also transfixed to the same screen, her biting her bottom lip in order to hold in an obscenely large girlish grin at what she thought would happen next.

"'Oh my' indeed; well, would you look at that."

Like two naughty teenagers being caught by their parents for doing something naughty, Molly and Mary whirled round at the sudden interruption, the latter slamming shut her laptop.

John raised an amused and knowing eyebrow at both women just as Sherlock waltzed into the lab, frowning at them while pocketing his phone.

"It seems you women were inspecting the anatomy of someone other than the dead bodies in the morgue."

Molly glanced guiltily at her companion, who put on a fake cheery smile. "Hi John!"

He shook his head and laughed while Sherlock furrowed his brows once more, trying to figure out what had just happened. However, he eventually categorised it as 'unimportant trivial information' and, deleting it off his mind, had wanted to begin dictating to Molly the equipment and necessary items he would need for his experiment (that was important for a case. Or that was what he claimed the reason to be), but at that instance Mike Stamford entered the room.

"Mary?" was the first thing he said upon spotting said woman, tone of voice one of mild surprise. "What are you doing here and not working?"

"Oops - found out! Gotta go!" she hastily replied, giggling to her friend who rolled her eyes in response. "I'll leave my laptop here then, Molly."

Before she left, she leaned in to whisper into the pathologist's ear, "Don't forget to continue watching it."

Molly laughed, flushing a little, as Mary winked at her and, after exchanging a few words with Mike, went out on her merry way.

Mike turned to the only other woman in the room and addressed to her the reason for his presence. "Molly, it seems that we'll need your assistance with some tests upstairs, so if you wouldn't mind coming, I'll explain-"

"No; she's staying."

"What?" John immediately blurted out. Mike and Molly glanced quizzically at each other.

After a few seconds without any sort of elaboration from the consulting detective, he sighed frustratedly. "Well, would you mind explaining, then?"

"There's nothing to explain, is there? It's obvious," Sherlock scoffed.

"Yes - it's obvious why Molly has to leave with Mike. But no - it's not obvious why she has to stay with the likes of you here."

Affronted, Sherlock scowled with as much force as he could muster. "I need her help," he said hotly.

"Her help in getting you coffee or body parts, you mean," John retorted.

"I don't only ask from her those-"

"Oh, don't deny it; I'm always here-"

"You don't pay attention, do you? There were times-"

"Majority, Sherlock; the majority of the times you always-"

"I won't be for long."

Both men slightly started at the firm but soft interjection from Molly, and Mike raised a brow at her.

"It seems important, since Mike doesn't usually ask my help," she explained, trying her hardest to keep eye contact with the both of them, especially Sherlock who she felt needed more convincing. She knew from more than first-hand experiences how he could be when things did not go as he pleased, and most hardly bode well.

"But I require you to get for me-"

"Sure, just go on," John interrupted Sherlock, throwing a glare at him. "I'm sure Sherlock can wait for and survive without you for a few minutes."

Sherlock reciprocated the glare with a death stare of his own while Mike brightened up and immediately escorted a pink-faced Molly ('wait for and survive without her'…?) out, informing her on what needed to be done. As soon as both were out of the lab, John snorted out a laugh. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you have such a clingy personality!"

"But you **do** know me better," Sherlock snarled in response and slightly bared his teeth, hating that he had both lost the battle and been described as 'clingy'.

The blond laughed again and shook his head in amusement. Soon things cooled down and both men went on their own business; Sherlock was sitting at his usual place, in front of 'his' microscope, cross-checking what he was seeing in the water samples he had brought with him to the computer and his own knowledge on it while John, standing beside him, texted on his phone.

Suddenly, the younger man's right hand shot out, surprising the only other occupant in the room. "Coffee," he mumbled absentmindedly, still thoroughly absorbed in his work.

"Hah. She's not here; go get it yourself."

He raised his head to briefly look over to the older man, then went back to his work. "You'll do," he muttered.

Annoyed, John stalked over to the other end of the room. "Go get it yourself," he repeated loudly.

There was a soft puzzled reply three minutes later. "Coffee?"

* * *

"Him again?!"

John jolted upright in his seat and slammed his knee on the underside of the table he was at. He cursed lightly at the pain as his half-awaken brain tried to comprehend what happened. Apparently, he was startled awake by a sudden booming voice, which was a stark contrast to the silence he was used to for the few minutes.

"God, that was loud," he mumbled tiredly, rubbing his eyes and trying to get rid of the fatigue. He should get to bed once they reached home, he decided.

"This is absurd!"

"Sherlock, who the hell are you talking to?" John half-shouted to the man at the other corner of the room. He was fully aware that Sherlock had the tendency to talk to himself (though sometimes he was oblivious of that fact himself), but that was usually only when he was alone. John was here, in the same room no less, so either he was talking to him, or-

"Hey, hey! That's Mary's laptop!" Once he saw his flatmate holding on to said appliance, he bolted up from his seat and rushed over to where he was sitting.

"Sherlock, privacy!"

"Hmm?"

Sighing in defeat, John massaged his right temple with a hand. "What are you doing, Sherlock?" he asked in a decidedly calmer tone.

Instead of verbally answering, Sherlock clicked on the play button that appeared and glared daggers at a buffering video. John frowned and, rubbing his eyes once more, focused his gaze on the video.

"Oh, that's Benedict Cumberbatch," the ex-Army doctor pointed out in mock exclamation when said man made his appearance in the video. He knew what he was watching; hell, he had caught those two women in the act. But it was certainly more fun with Sherlock around.

A Sherlock whose face protrayed the phrase 'utted disgust' in every sense of the word, and it certainly was a surprise, given that that look was usually reserved for and aimed at Anderson.

"I. Can. See. That," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"He's in a sheet."

"I. Can. See. That."

"Apparenly naked underneath. And he's on a bed. Oh, that guy's lifting up the sheet from the bottom where his-"

"JOHN! SHUT UP WITH THE ASININE COMMENTARY!"

He chuckled out loud as answer and eventually quietened down. He watched as Benedict's character went out of the room he was in and onto the ship's deck, where it was raining heavily.

John turned to see the detective's gaze resolute on the screen as the character began washing his laundry, and himself. The blond wanted so much as to howl in laughter at the different expressions that flitted across his face, mostly strong disdain on what he was looking at.

"Comparing his body structure to yours? Maybe his is larger," he teased the black haired man mercilessly.

"JOHN, last warning - **shut up**, or else."

He shook his head, thoroughly entertained, before the slam of a laptop startled him.

"Sherlock! That's Mary's-"

"How can she be wasting her time on such RUBBISH?!" Sherlock burst out loudly, pacing furiously around the length of the lab.

"It's called -well, I think that's what it's called, anyway- 'fangirling', I guess," John said, watching him pace with mirth in his eyes.

"Molly's not a girl," Sherlock shot back.

"Well, it'd sound retarded if it's 'fanwomaning', wouldn't it?"

"WHY. Why would she even do this in the first place?! It's obvious that this sort of 'fangirling' business has decreased her standard of performance and caused her to be distracted much easily and regularly nowadays!"

"You noticed? I didn't see any marked deprovement-"

Sherlock twirled around and pointed an accusing finger at him. "You see, but do not observe, that's why!"

He resumed his frantic pacing, mumbling to himself. John caught a few of his words and decided to add in his two pence worth. "Maybe because she's a Cumberbabe?"

"**What?**" The tall lanky man abruptly stopped and faced him, his eyes challenging him to repeat what was said.

The shorter and stockier man smirked. Challenge accepted. "Maybe she's a Cumberbabe?"

Sherlock groaned loudly, with John getting the impression that he had somehow 'deleted' that part of Molly.

"It's a hazard…it's a hazard…" the man chanted softly under his breath. John, who caught on, frowned.

"What's going on now?"

"Molly cannot continue with this childish behaviour," Sherlock suddenly announced, eyes boring into the other man's.

It was John's turn to groan. This does not sound good.

* * *

"Yoohoo, Molly; I'll need my laptop now!" Mary chirped brightly as she sauntered over to where the petite woman was sitting. Molly briefly gave her a one-sided grin and a wave towards the object before resuming her work.

"So. Seen anything you like?" Mary asked with a devilish smile as she rebooted the thing. When had it even shut down on its own, actually?

Before Molly could respond, she went on as if nothing had happened. "I've been thinking: if we had somehow missed that sinfully delicious video, I'm sure there're tons-"

"Mary-"

"-tons of it like that, so what I'm proposing is that-"

"Ma-"

"-we come over to my house later on, and search this Youtube with a fine-tooth-"

"MARY!"

"…yes?"

Molly huffed at being repeatedly interrupted, but let it go and stared at her friend.

"Alright. So I was-"

"Did you finish watching that gem?" Mary cut her off.

"Ah, that - no, I wasn't able to. But the thing is, this-"

"I brought my laptop here to specifically get you to watch it, but your answer is 'wasn't able to'?!"

"Mary, it's because-"

"That video was one of the best I've watched, and I wanted to share with you-"

"Mary! Just - just 'shh'?!" Molly pleaded exasperatedly. Mary giggled, knowing her friend hated being interrupted.

"Okay - I'll 'shh'," she replied playfully, one long finger placed on her pink glossy lips.

"Mary…" Molly sighed at the nurse's mild immaturity, then continued, "I would have definitely watched it till the end, and you know I would love to, but Sherlock told-"

"That arrogant child of a man, again?!"

"Mary!" She gave her a horrified look. "Sherlock's brilliant! He's smart -in terms of brains and the way he dresses- and also amazing; he's helping people out -well, in his, uh, own unconventional way, that is- and- and-"

Mary stared hard at her.

"-and he's an arrogant child of a man," she conceded softly.

The brunette nurse let out a resigned breath. "Okay, what did he say this time round?"

Molly glanced up at her standing companion and took a deep breath in. "He says that my quality of performance has dropped, albeit a little-"

"Now that's nonsense! You're always attentive to details-"

"-and I've become distracted much frequently. I am also doing things a lot slower than before."

"Oh, c'mon, Molly!" Mary said exasperatedly. "You're the best in what you do! Your performance, or whatever he's calling your work, has never faltered - at least not that I can see it obviously. Really! Did he mentioned any reasons as to why you've become like 'this'?" she asked frustratedly, air quoting the word 'this'.

"He says I'm too preoccupied with thoughts."

"'Thoughts'?! Ugh!"

"Thoughts on- on Benedict! Sherlock says I'm spending most of my time fanwomaning on a guy who, apparently, never even knew I existed; I've brought this attitude to work and, slowly but surely, I'm beginning to lose my reputation as top pathologist in Bart's."

Mary heard her, but blinked in surprise at one particular word. "'Fanwomaning'? What's that?"

Molly shrugged in response. "How am I to know?"

"Anyway. He has no right to-"

"I actually agree with him."

The older woman physically reeled her head back in utter shock. "What? What do you agree on - no fanwomaning?"

"What?! Not that! I mean, I do feel that my work is slightly affected by this obsess- interest in Benedict, so maybe I'll have to tone down my support for him for the moment; I do still want to be at my very best when at work. Sherlock gave me suggestions on how to do so."

"Oh, he did, did he? May I enquire as to these 'suggestions'?" Mary asked in false politeness. She gave her brown haired friend a wary look, though, which preceded the feeling that she would not like what she would be hearing.

Molly counted off on her fingers as she listed said suggestions. "Burn any DVDs that I have that starred him; no watching him on the telly; avoid any videos of him on Youtube; stop ogling at pictures of him half, full and wearing-only-a-sheet naked."

The other woman in the lab raised an eyebrow. "Someone's jealous."

Molly, in turn, gave her a sad smile. "Sherlock? No, Mary - Sherlock doesn't do jealousy, unfortunately. It's his way of making me focus at the task on hand and be as efficient as always for him."

Mary patted her on the arm in consolation. That was when Molly looked up at her with a cheeky grin.

"Oh, I know that grin!" Mary commented, a mischevious glint appearing in her eyes.

"Once a Cumberbabe, always a Cumberbabe, Mary. Besides, Sherlock doesn't know everything."

"Doesn't know 'everything'? And what thing does that World's Only Consulting Detective not know?" she smirked back, playing along.

"He has said I am not to look at any of his pictures and watch any of his movies. But he has never mentioned anything about the auditorial part of Benedict Cumberbatch."

"Oh, you're so smart, Molly! His voice is always the best part of him! Molly, one; Sherlock, none!"

Mary, after enough praise to her best friend that caused the latter to blush under the comments, winked at her. "Well, you can always start that 'Benedict movies/pictures' ban tomorrow. I don't see the child of a man around now; care to watch the video till the end?"

* * *

Man, that was extremely fun to write! ;D Alright - I wrote this fic just to follow-up on an idea I have, but I'm becoming more cautious; I have no intention of offending anyone with the use of a real-life person in fanfiction (even if it's a mention -or in this case, video [do you know what it is? ;)]- of him), so once again, if what I'm doing is wrong, **PLEASE** tell me. I'll take this down with immediate effect. If not - anyone's interested in a chapter on the, ahem, auditorial part? ;P :DDD


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